The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1887-12-08
THE GOLDEN GATE.
Interesting Letter from the Pacific
Slope.
/ Speciai Correspondence Of tie Gotd Laaf1
MORRIS RAvINE, California;,
N0vemler % 1881

county, California, an old miner who
had reached that age allotted to man,
lived by himself in low, small cabin
scarcely ten by ten. Months and
months ago was here and saw him
IN TINS lonely spot, where it seemed to
me, solitude reigncd supreme, and the
natural stiffness was only broken by
the incessant, continual and monot
onous flow Of the Feather, in its wild
rush to the broad Sacramento. 1t was
Joyous summer, but no flowers were in
or about that lonely cabin-no daffo-
dis or hyacinths sending forth their
fragrance as if freighted with love and
JOY; no tender, loving hand was there
to tastcfully arrange the interior, or
bright smile and cheering word TO
welcome the old tired prosPector at
evening after toiling for golden treas
ures during the long, weary days.
Here for years and years he has lived !;
daily working; daily hoping; and at
night while enjoying "tired nature S
sweet restorer," what happy dreams he
has reveled in Of golden treasures and
rich deposits.
But the old man is gone his dream
of life is ended. Gone Did you ever
think how much meaning lies in that
little monosyilablc-gone? Never be
fore dit it strike ME with such forci-
bleness and perspicuity. Months and
months ago | fshed in the Feather
whilst handy by in sight was this hope
full old fellow washing gold from the
alluvial deposits adjacent. Whenever
he "struck it" l dropped my line,
went to him and rejoiced with him !;
when | made a good 'catch' he re-
ciprocating, would come to my side
and exult over my success. At even
tide would give him good share
of the results ofmy days sport, receiv-
ing his sincere thanks in return. |
fancy | can see him now low in stat
ure, medium built, his form bent by
years of toll, with wrinkled brow, his
long gray whiskers, his white hair and
a countenance the very picture of hope
itself. Gone Yes, gone; the poor
old fellow dispairing at last of finding
the much coveted fortune in the Land
Of Gold ended his own life by his own
hand in the same River along whose
banks he had lived and PANIED so
long.
He has crossed the River and gone
to that undiscovered country never to
return to tell the boys of its riches.
How many prospectors have preceded
him! May he survey the shining
shores of that Beautiful river, cross the
fair fields and level plains of the en-
chanting Eden, ascend the heights ofthe
Haven of Rest, enjoy the riches of the
of Peace and Plenty, cross
the Divide, prospect the Ravine of
Love and Joy and wash the gravel
beds of the tributaries of Happiness
and Prosperity; see the rich hedges
and descend the shafts of Eternal bliss
and enter the Celestial City, whose
gates are of pearl, whose streets are of
pure gold like unto clear glass and
whose walls are Of jasper garnished
with foundations of sapphire and
chalCedomy and emerald and other
precious stones. When one departs
how much is gone? Childhood is gone
with all its bushes and fairness-with
all its health and wanton-with all It's
smiles like glimpses of Heaven; and
all its tears, which were but the suf-
fusion of joy. Youth is gone-bright,
hopeful youth, when you counted the
years with jewelled numbers, and hung
lamps of ambition at your path, which
lighted the palace Of renown; when the
days were woven into weeks of blithe
labor, and the weeks were rolled into
harvest months of triumph, and the
months were bound into golden sheaves
Of years-all gone! The strength and
pride of manhood is gone; you look
back upon a decade, as you once
looked upon half score of months;
L year has become to your slackened
memory, and to your dull perceptions,
like a week of childhood. Suddenly
and swiftly, come past you, great whirls
of by-gone thought, and wrecks of vain
labor eddying upon the stream that
rusheS to the grave. The sweeping
outlines of life, that lay once before
the vision-rolling into wide pillows
Of years, like easy lifts of broad
ranGe-now seem close
packed together, as with a Titan hand !
and you see only crowded, craggv
neightS-like Alpine fastnesses-parted
with glaciers of grief, and leaking
abundant tears.
Your friends are gone-they who
counselled and advised you, and who
protected your weakness they who
1heered you while in despair and re-
olced at your Success. You leave them
all behind. The days are gone too,
in which you have fingered in balmy
breezes and under the sweet scenes of
modern Italy; and the evenings are
gone, in which you loitered under the
trees with dear ones, under the light
Of a harvest moon, and talked of YOUR
blooming hopes, and of the stirring
plans of your manhood. There are
no more ambitious hopes-no more
sturdy plans. LIES work has rounded
into the evening that shortens labor.
Yes, all this is gone but what were
die SlInlioht worth Is clondc IA -